This cruise was awarded Juno’s Cup by RCC.

Annie and I crossed the Atlantic to the West Indies for the winter in 1996 and sailed up to Nova Scotia from the Virgin Islands the following April. When we arrived in early May, we were a little surprised to find it frosty and that all the local yachts were still laid up. After visiting friends, we cruised up the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia and then through the beautiful Bras d’Or lakes. 

Our plan for the summer was to cruise up the Labrador coast in July, and then to cross the Hudson Strait to Frobisher Bay in August, before beating a retreat to the Azores in the autumn. These plans were totally dependent on the ice conditions. The previous year, the Strait of Belle Isle (separating Newfoundland from the Labrador) had been closed by ice until very late summer.

Most of the coast in the northern section of the Labrador has not been surveyed and often there is just a thin line of soundings along the ‘recommended track.’ The shoreline and most of the islands are shown taken from aerial surveys, but there is no shortage of exploring to do. When we sailed into a likely-looking bay at the south-east corner of Green Island, we were rewarded with finding a well-sheltered bay and 18 feet of water in which to drop the anchor (57°39’N, 61°46’W). A walk ashore the next morning revealed three caribou who, far from startled, wandered close to us to investigate and then went down to the beach to sniff at our dinghy. We sailed out in a light breeze and fine, sunny weather and had a look in the harbour at the north end of the island (57°40’N, 61 °48’W) where Aratapu (RCC) had anchored, four years previously. 

The wind disappeared and we motored for a while to catch the tide through Mugford Tickle. The Kaumajet mountains rise sheer on either hand as you pass through the tickle, with the cliffs 1,000 feet high. We were fortunate to have gentle, clear weather for the passage. Once round the corner, there is a good view of the Bishop’s Mitre, a 4,000 foot peak which is split by a deep ravine, looking (in fact) just like a bishop’s mitre. The breeze remained light and after another spell of motoring, we anchored in Three Mountain Harbour (57°58’N 62°08’W) at ten o’clock that evening. The next day was Annie’s birthday and our original intention to spend the day at anchor was modified by the squalls that were assaulting Badger in the anchorage. We scrambled to the top of the hill above the bay so that Annie could build her standing man – a new craze – and after collecting some driftwood on the beach, we decided to go and look for a more tranquil spot. 

As we left the bay there appeared to be a clear, deep channel between Sturman Island and the mainland. Sailing through, we were a little alarmed to see the bottom come up quickly to 12 feet with an underwater rock nearby, but fortunately the soundings increased again and we sailed north in the fresh breeze to Finger Hill Island. We lost the wind in its lee and it never came back with any strength. We eventually found a tiny cove in Napartokk Bay, (58°01’N, 62°19’W) where we could enjoy the mandatory birthday feast and had a peaceful night. 

As we approached Hebron (58°12’N 62°37’W) the following afternoon, word had obviously got out that there was a free show in store. A helicopter landed and a small group of people gathered to watch Badger enter. The Pilot led us to believe that we could anchor off the settlement, although the Mate was somewhat dubious, but as we approached the shore under power, we went aground. Putting the engine astern pulled us off, but as we turned around, we went aground on another rocky shoal. This time we stuck fast. It was just on low water, but as we had an audience, who were obviously getting their money’s worth, I thought it would look better to try and pull ourselves off, rather than waiting for the tide to do the work. I duly rowed out an anchor and we were soon off. We retreated with our tail between our legs to a deeper anchorage, further out. When the fun was over, the helicopter took off again. This struck us as a rather extreme case of Sod’s Law that states if you make a mess of things there will always be someone there to watch you do it.

Hebron was a Moravian Mission station, which was abandoned about 1960. Many of the buildings are falling down, such as the Hudson Bay trading post, but the church and mission, similar in style to the one at Hopedale, is still intact. It has been recognised as an historic building and attempts have been made by the Government to stabilise its condition. But unless more effort is put in, it will soon start to deteriorate quickly, as several of the outside doors could not be closed and the roof cladding had gone from a large area. We were glad that the helicopter had disappeared, as the setting of these buildings, on a beautiful site, had to be appreciated in solitude.

A falling glass brought a freshening breeze, which soon sent us round to Saglek Fjord. A radar station perched on the edge of a high cliff guards the entrance, presumably put there to keep us safe in our beds, or maybe just to give us four minutes warning that we weren’t. There is no all weather anchorage in this Fjord: St John’s Harbour is open to the north and East Harbour (58°32’N 62°46’W), next to Big Island, is open to the south-east. We chose the latter, as the wind was south-westerly and looked as though it might shift to the north. The entrance is wide, but there are a couple of submerged reefs to avoid. This area was surveyed by the US Navy in the 1950s in anticipation of the radar station (which is part of the DEW line). The wind increased all afternoon and the woollies were so bad that we put out a second anchor – after which they died away. In the evening, I rowed ashore and scrambled to the top of the island next to us. The chart showed the top end of the harbour as drying out, yet from my vantage point it looked to be reasonably deep. Sounding with the lead from the dinghy revealed that much of the area had a minimum depth of 10 feet and it was possible for a yacht to tuck behind the western end of Big Island in a perfect landlocked harbour – quite a find.

The wind eased off the next morning and after lunch we checked out the top end of the harbour in Badger and then sailed over to St John’s Harbour (58°27’N, 62°48’W), the breeze dying away. At the head of the inlet, two small ships were moored together – as we approached, an open boat came over and asked us to raft up alongside and have dinner with them. It seemed churlish to refuse and we were soon tied up to the Michael J Symonds and the Newfoundland Tradition. Rex Symonds, the owner of the two vessels, made us welcome and gave us the ten cent tour. Newfoundland Tradition was a new fishing boat, which spent the summer catching turbot off Baffin Land and the Michael J Symonds was a converted trawler which took the catch back to Newfoundland. The crew were having a mid-season break at home and the two vessels were moored here awaiting their return. A chartered aeroplane was using the airstrip at the radar base to transfer the crew. Rex had brought some friends with him from St Antony’s to look after the fishing boat and make a holiday of it. 

Word travels fast in the North and they knew all about our grounding in Hebron. The helicopter belonged to a diamond prospecting party, based at a cabin ashore. After a meal on board, several of the crew came over to Badger for the rest of the evening. We were told a fascinating tale about an RAF bomber that crash-landed on the site of the future airstrip, in November 1944. The plane was flying from Greenland to Goose Bay in Labrador, when it became lost in bad weather. The crew survived the landing and eventually the navigator worked out where they were – only 20 miles from Hebron, which was then inhabited. The weather and lack of suitable clothing prevented them from travelling overland, so two of the crew tried to reach Hebron in their inflatable boat, but disappeared in the attempt. The rest of the crew starved to death the following January. Two months later, a hunting party from Hebron discovered the wreck and found the pilot’s diary. 

Next morning, we walked along the roadway, built for the DEW line station and then abandoned, and later called at the cabin to have a chat with the prospectors’ cook, Mr Blake. When we left, he presented us with four enormous T-bone steaks. We had hoped to sail up to the top of Saglek Fjord, which reaches into the heart of the Torngat mountains, but there was just too little wind to contemplate going up. Progress up the coast had been much slower than expected owing to the light breezes, but making the best use of the winds given is the essence of cruising under sail, and any temptation to use the motor to keep up a high average speed must be resisted, or much of the satisfaction of the sport will be lost. We did, however, sometimes use our engine – often at the end of the day to get to an anchorage for the night. Badger ’s diesel engine is air-cooled and somewhat noisy. Our usual cruising speed is 2½ knots, which is economical and not too loud – after all, we’d be happy sailing at 2½ knots, if there were any wind. 

The weather was generally wonderful, with sunshine and good visibility, so we could appreciate the barren, mountainous landscape as we slowly sailed north. We had a lay day at Bib Cove (59°51’N 64°05’W), as there was little wind. Annie spent the morning washing, while I fetched water from the nearby stream and sawed up some driftwood ashore. We seemed to have left the mozzies behind, or perhaps it was getting too late in the summer for them, so we were able to have a barbecue ashore at lunchtime. 

It was 16th August when we anchored in Clarke Harbour (60°14’N 64°23’W) at the top of the Labrador. On the way in, we passed quite a large tented camp and, as the anchor rattled down, two open boats came by to see us. It was late and they soon left, but asked us to visit them the next morning. We walked over and there was quite some excitement as we arrived. Had we seen Nanuk? One had approached their camp that morning and most of them had never seen a polar bear before. Several families had come up from George River in Ungava Bay for their summer holiday, cruising along the coast in their fishing boat, camping at various places along the way to fish for Arctic char and hunt for seals. The bell tents all had smoking chimneys poking through (with many scorch holes in the canvas) and a few sealskins were pegged out on the ground to dry. Sammy was very friendly and forthcoming and we had a long talk with him about the Inuit way of life in George River. Whilst obviously embracing much of the ’western’ way of life, he was keen to remember his heritage; travelling each summer and winter in the land was very important to him. He was very optimistic for the future of the Inuit and when Annie asked him if the thought that he had a good life, his face beamed:

‘Yes, I have,’ he replied, spreading his arms and gesturing to all around him, ‘I have my freedom.’ 

The northern end of Labrador forms the southern entrance to the Hudson Strait and the tides here are fearsome. Our plan was to cross the Straits and have a look at Frobisher Bay in Baffin Land, but first we wanted to visit the Button Islands, at the very tip of the Labrador. Unfortunately the tides were approaching springs, but we had no time to wait for neaps, as it was already 17th August and the summer was nearly over. We set out in a light breeze just after lunch to catch the favourable tide. The wind soon died, so we motored past Cape Chidley and then a force three easterly sprang up as we entered the Grey Strait. Badger crabbed across the channel with a five knot current pushing her sideways, the light wind making the overfalls no more than a popple. The chart showed an unnamed inlet on Lawson Island, which looked as though it might provide an anchorage, but of course there were no soundings. The wind died again and we motored against the last of the flood and tried to enter the inlet before dark. We just made it and now kept our fingers crossed that there would be suitable depths, especially as the tidal range was some 26 feet. Luckily, we found a shelf with 30 feet over it and just enough room to swing. The shores were littered with stranded growlers (60°36’N, 64°41’W). 

I awoke in the dim dawn to hear a piece of ice tapping against the hull and thought it wise to go and fend it off. Sleepily looking over the side, I was amazed to see a polar bear alongside. I dashed below to wake Annie and as we came back again, we saw the bear swimming for the shore. He climbed out and with a quick backward glance, disappeared over a rocky ridge. He was obviously as surprised as we were.

After breakfast and with no sign of the polar bear, we rowed ashore to take a picture of the anchorage. From the top of the cliff above the anchorage, we could see the polar bear just around the headland, swimming towards us. The thrill of seeing the bear again was somewhat tempered in my case, by the thought of being trapped ashore. We scrambled down towards the dinghy, but before we reached it, we saw the bear swimming towards us and didn’t have time to get into the dinghy before he arrived. Annie, who is good with animals, suggested to me, who am not, that we stand up and shout fearlessly at him, to make him a little wary and give us time to get into the dinghy. We shouted, and I hope that it sounded fearless. I was quaking in my Wellingtons. If nothing else, we probably confused him and he veered off while we dashed down the rocks and into the dinghy. We were soon aboard and the dinghy on deck. After sniffing around our scent ashore, the polar bear swam out to Badger and then slowly swam around the boat. What a privilege to watch this magnificent animal at such close quarters! We were both euphoric at the encounter and certainly, for my part, it was in no small measure due to the contrast with the close shave ashore. After forty minutes or so, he lost interest and swam away. We pulled up the anchor and headed out to cross over to Frobisher Bay. Just before passing the end of the Button Islands, we passed another polar bear swimming nonchalantly across the straits in the strong tide.

It took us three days to cross the Hudson Strait, with 127 miles made good. Light winds and the spring tides accounted for the very slow progress. The current was up to seven knots around Resolution Island, at the north side of the Strait, and we always seemed to be in the wrong place when the tide turned. Resolution Island has the reputation of being the foggiest place in the world – on average it is foggy one day in two. We were very fortunate in that respect as the weather stayed remarkably clear, with amazing mi rages on the horizon. It was on 21st August that we at last anchored off the Meta Incognita Peninsula, in Baffin Land. There is some uncertainty about the meaning of ’Meta Incognita’, the name that Martin Frobisher gave to this peninsula. One theory is that ‘meta’ means the turning post in a chariot race and that Frobisher is referring to the turning point of his voyage to unknown lands. It is perhaps also a nod to the classical scholarship of Queen Elizabeth I.

This area of Frobisher Bay looked the most interesting, with mountains, glaciers and an almost totally uncharted coastline. After finding an anchorage in a well-sheltered bay (61° 59’N, 66° 05’W), we were keen to get ashore. We were now cautious about polar bears being around, but having read our Tristan Jones we went ashore well prepared with our Very pistol (don’t fire until you can see his tonsils). There were many caribou antlers on the ground, but no sign of bears. A walk to the top of the hill gave a good view over the Kendall Strait, Annie built her standing man and we both rolled boulders. The next day saw us sailing and drifting up the Kendall Strait in bright sunshine. The tide was with us, and often the many pieces of ice would overtake us as the wind faltered. 

The Pilot has little to say about the Strait, except to comment that the north end is encumbered by shoals and rocks. We had a few frights as the bottom came up to meet us, but there was always enough water and the tide was making. Ashore we spotted a polar bear with two cubs, and from now on we saw several each day, including one on an iceberg, looking just like the advert for Fox’s Glacier Mints. This rather curtailed any thoughts of long walks ashore. The bay that was earmarked to provide our night’s anchorage (62°10’N 59°58’W) obliged, with suitable depths and a handy stream for replenishing our water.

Continuing north-east, we sailed into another unnamed bay (62°18’N, 66°10’W), near Halford Island. A fresh breeze was blowing in, but otherwise the place would have been a good anchorage. A polar bear and her two cubs watched us from the shore. The next bay north would have given us shelter from the wind, but unfortunately there was a drying reef across the entrance. We continued on to Jackman Sound and found a snug anchorage by Buerger Point (66°20’N, 66°15’W). After dropping the hook, I commented that it made a change to be in a harbour where there was no polar bear. Annie wordlessly pointed to a nearby islet, on top of which a lone white bear lazed in the evening sun.

We sailed further up Jackman Sound, with the sun shining on the Tierra Nivea icecap and the many streams running down from it turning the water a cloudy green. Our last anchorage in Frobisher Bay was at the north-west corner of Jackman Sound (62°20’N 66°29’W) and here we dropped the hook in a landlocked basin next to a waterfall. Unfortunately, our time was now up and that was as far as we went. The arctic summer is very short, but perhaps that is part of the attraction and it had certainly been worthwhile travelling the long distance to experience it.

We set out from Jackman Sound on 27th August. The weather had broken and it was blowing force five from the north, with rain and mist. As we beat out, a Canadian Coastguard helicopter flew past and circled us; we gave them a cheery wave. We planned to sail to the Azores. With luck, we would be too late in the year to get hit by a hurricane and too early to have the autumn gales setting in. The weather cleared up as we passed Resolution Island – still no fog there – and we had several days of light southerly winds and clear weather, with spectacular Northern Lights. The skies then clouded over and the wind increased to force 4-5, but the sea that got up was out of all proportion to the wind. It was vilely uncomfortable as we crashed and bashed our way south. 

One night, the main halliard block broke and the sail banged down into the topping lifts. To cover such an eventuality, we have a large spare block at the masthead, with the flag halliard rove through it. It was a quick job to pass the main halliard through this block and be underway again. Two days later, the halliard jammed in the block when it jumped off the sheave. After a bit of head scratching, we managed to release it and haul up another block to the spare one. Then the halliard parted. More head scratching and then, using the burgee halliard, we hauled up yet another block on a rolling hitch. All was now reasonably well, but the rolling hitch very slowly slid down, so that by the time we arrived in the Azores, we had two reefs permanently in the mainsail. 

We had two blows that just reached gale force, through which we were hove-to. As they passed, Badger plodded her way south-east, still with a very rough sea and contrary wind. As we approached the Azores, the weather improved and the wind freed, but the moderate breeze made us miss the two panels of main that we couldn’t set. We ended the passage in Terceira, at Angra do Heroismo, having been 27 days at sea to cover the 2,260 miles. We were back once again in the land of fresh fruit, vegetables and wine, to find that had we arrived much sooner we would have experienced hurricane Erica – perhaps proving that it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. 

We don’t usually take crew along on our cruises, but Steve Spring is an old friend and he expressed a desire to visit the Falkland Islands. He thought it unlikely that he would ever get there in his own boat and so the arrangements were made. Steve lives in Ohio and, after trying several travel agents who thought it impossible even to get there, eventually one found him a route via Miami, Santiago and Punta Arenas. 

We were at Stanley International Airport to meet Steve on the Friday before Christmas. The plane was crowded and the waiting room was lull with a similar number of people waiting to fly to Chile when the Twin Otter returned in a couple of hours. Carl Freeman had kindly offered to ferry us all back to Badger in his Land Rover to where she was anchored at the west end of the harbour, two miles out of town. This anchorage seemed to give the most shelter from the persistent strong westerly winds and made it possible to get ashore in the dinghy most of the time. 

The next day, we all walked into Stanley to show Steve the sights and saw that Dodo’s Delight had just arrived. We made our number with Bob Shepton and his crew of ‘lads’ and heard about their trip down from Rio We had been invited to a party that night and found Bob and his crew tucking in to the barbecue; he had wasted no time making friends in town.

We sailed from Stanley on the Tuesday morning, with a southerly force 3 and an overcast sky. Such a light wind is a rare treat in the summer months and Steve was going to be broken in gently. The sail down the harbour was interesting, with the various wrecks along the shore and the brightly painted, ‘wriggly tin’ roofs of the town rising up the hillside. We were soon through the narrows and reaching along Port William to Cape Pembroke. Here we turned south-west and beat down the coast of East Falkland. 

Our plan was to sail out west, going south-about, and then circumnavi gate by coming back north-about. We would day sail as far as possible and if the usual strong westerlies proved too hard, we could always cut through Falkland Sound. Allowing a little leeway to get back to Stanley for the flight to Chile, we had just over three weeks. 

We had timed our departure to take advantage of the fair ebb tide off Cape Pembroke, but several hours later the flood filled in against us and the wind eased off. Progress was slow, but we made it into Port Fitzroy and anchored off the lagoon just north of Bold Point by tea-time.

The planned trip ashore to see the gentoo penguin colony was called off as the surf on the beach made a dry landing look unlikely. The surf was caused by an easterly swell, which made the anchorage too uncomfortable to contemplate spending the night there, so we sailed round to East Cove a couple of miles away and anchored off the kelp to the west of East Island. The wind had virtually gone and what litte there was came from the east. 

We slipped away from East Cove by 0630 next morning. The wind was north-east force 3 and it was a pleasant run down to Choiseul Sound. We anchored in Pyramid Cove, opposite Lively Island, by lunchtime and were soon ashore and walking over to Pyramid Creek, where there is good mullet fishing. The tide was right (a couple of hours before high water) and we were soon hauling them in while the mutton steaks cooked over a diddle-dee fire.

After lunch we went back aboard and Annie pickled the fish before she and Steve rowed over to Pyramid Island in the entrance to the cove. A few weeks before, Annie and I had visited nearby Modey Island and had mentioned the variety of animals that we’d seen to Sally Poncet. She had become very interested, as the island was for sale, but it was assumed to be overrun by rats and hence had litde wildlife of interest. Based on what we’d seen, Sally thought that Falklands Conservation should take an interest and had asked Annie to visit some of the islands in the area and do a more comprehensive survey, armed with a couple of Field Guides that Sally had given us. 

The following day dawned sunny, with a light north-east wind. We sailed around Pyramid Point, in Lively Sound, and thought we would anchor off Seal Island so that Annie could have a look round. The only kelp-free patch was off the north shore, with a shingle beach to land on. The wind had picked up a bit, and as it was a lee shore with about a mile of fetch I decided to stay on anchor watch, while Steve and Annie rowed ashore. 

Two hours later, we sailed off and ran down towards Motiey Island. There is quite a reasonable anchorage on the east side, but it’s exposed to the east and subject to swell from the south. The wind was now north-east force 4, but it looked like a sea breeze that would ease off later and the kelp bank at the north of the bay should give shelter from the north-east. 

The following day dawned sunny, with a light north-east wind. We sailed around Pyramid Point, in Lively Sound, and thought we would anchor off Seal Island so that Annie could have a look round. The only kelp-free patch was off the north shore, with a shingle beach to land on. The wind had picked up a bit, and as it was a lee shore with about a mile of fetch I decided to stay on anchor watch, while Steve and Annie rowed ashore. 

We sailed in between the kelp and anchored off the beach in seven me tres. After lunch, I rowed Annie ashore to do her survey. There was too much swell to land on the beach, but we managed to find a safe landing by struggling through a large kelp patch at the south of the bay. Annie had an interesting time ashore, as she relates:

‘Pete rowed me ashore and I arranged to be back on the beach at 1800. Modey was very rewarding, but tiring pushing through tussac and over hummocky bog. I also had my fair share of adventure. I nearly stood on a Casson’s falcon’s nest and the parents attacked me with ear-piercing screams that put the fear of God in me until I discovered what it was. I was still quite frightened as they aimed at my face, forcing me to grovel away through the tussac to escape them. I was also a bit worried about falling over sealions; I could hear them growling and the tussac is extremely thick and high at the end of the island. 

I decided to short-cut across to another point opposite The Mot, but couldn’t take my chosen path for being dive-bombed by skuas. Just before I got to the pond there was another shriek just behind me — this time a brown owl reckoned I was too close to its nest. 

My nerves were jangling by this time and I was happy to sit down for a few minutes, have a cup of tea and watch the ducks (including a Chiloe widgeon) on the pond. It was a hell of a trek back, because I wanted to check out the shingle beach, having seen no Cobbs wren — I saw one there and then had to do a forced march across the bog to get back for 1800’. 

The light easterlies continued on Christmas Eve and the sun shone from a clear sky. Although the Falkland Islands are the same latitude south as England is north, the sun is much fiercer owing to the clean air. It is easy to get sunburnt, especially as it rarely gets warm enough to feel any danger. Annie and I protect ourselves with sun block cream, but Steve, being American, covered his face in zinc oxide tape and on occasion wore his sou’wester back to front as a sun bonnet. Such attire would have caused a collision in the Solent, but fortunately there was no one about to point the finger of scorn. 

We ran along the coast of Bleaker Island, the low Sealion Islands just visible to the south. The wind fell away by lunchtime, which scuppered our optimistic plans to be anchored in the Bay of Harbours early in the afternoon. Later on, the wind filled in from the west and the weather quickly deteriorated. Soon we had two reefs in each sail and were beating into force 5-6, with rain. Our new hope was to find a sheltered anchorage before dark — the prospect of a night at sea hove-to didn’t bear thinking about. 

By early evening we were wondering if we would make Fanny Cove Creek before dark, when a fortunate shift to the south-west enabled us to lay our course. I had been banking on this and Steve seemed suitably impressed with my assessment of the local meteorological conditions. We tacked up the inlet and anchored at 2000 in the spot recommended by Ewen Southby-Tailyour in Falkland Islands Shores. There didn’t seem to be too much shelter, as the wind blew right up the inlet, but we were safe enough with two anchors down and plenty of scope. We had a well-deserved dram or two and Annie turned-to in the galley for our Christmas Eve feast. If anything, the weather was worse on Christmas Day, with strong south westerlies and rain. It was too rough to row ashore for a walk, but we made the best of things, with plenty to eat and drink. Steve was feeling a little queasy most of the day, but the wind eased after tea so that we had a comfortable Christmas blow-out in the evening. The menu was: Popcorn and rum punch; curried mackerel fillet; roast gigot of mutton; roast potatoes and (home-bottled) asparagus; Christmas pudding and rum sauce. All washed down with Rioja. 

On Boxing Day we went ashore to see the ‘two million gentoo penguins’ described in Falkland Islands Shores. We walked several miles, but saw not one. Obviously two million is a slight exaggeration, as it’s unlikely there are that many in the world. 

Having stretched our legs we decided to press on westward. The west wind gave us a reach down to Bull Point, but there it deserted us and we drifted about on the tide. The breeze filled in again later in the afternoon from the south-south-west and it was decided to press on with this fair wind, as far west as we could get. Steve was a bit under the weather in the lumpy seas and retired to his bunk, but we sailed on overnight.

The full moon and fresh wind made for splendid sailing and by dawn we had Cape Meredith, at the south end of West Falkland, abeam. The wind increased and we tore up the coast and arrived off the bluffs of Staats Island in time to save our tide through the Governor Channel. We were too late to get through Stick-in-the-mud and so anchored off the shanty on Staats Island. 

Staats has a thriving herd of guanaco (a close relative of the llama) that was introduced to the island in 1937. A small group was grazing in the valley by the shanty, but they are shy creatures and bounded off as we anchored. A short row ashore and we could walk to the top of a nearby hill, from where the view around the surrounding islands was magnificent. 

There was a small colony of Magellanic penguins near the beach and they would scuttle in and out of their burrows in the tussac as we went past. After lunch, we sailed through Stick-in-the mud, a narrow passage between Weddell Island and Governor Island, with very strong currents. I had timed it right and we arrived just as the stream was turning in our favour. Once through, it was a short passage to Fish Creek on Beaver Island, where we picked up a buoy off the settlement.

Beaver Island is a small sheep farm, owned by Sally and Jerome Poncet. Jerome and Sally are probably the most experienced Antarctic sailors alive and they combine running a farm and raising three children with chartering their yacht, Damien II, to film crews and scientific expeditions. Their unique knowledge of South Georgia and the Antarctic Peninsula is much in demand. 

We stayed a few days at Beaver, visiting the gentoo penguin colony and collecting a bag full of wild mushrooms. One day Steve went off for a walk on his own and ended up marooned ashore because it was too rough to row off to pick him up. However, Sally treated him as a guest, fed him and made a bed up for the night.

Our last day there was New Year’s Eve, with a party to see in the New Year. Also visiting the island were George and Michelle on an aluminium centreboard sloop, Metapassion. This French couple had fitted out the hull in France and were sailing her back to Tasmania, their adopted home. The menu that night was quite exotic, with guanaco and upland goose stew. Our bottle of Uruguayan ‘champagne’ was upstaged by the real thing from France and suffered poorly by the comparison!

Sally had kindly given us half a mutton carcass and asked us to deliver the other half to Ian Strange, who lives on New Island, next door. We sailed on New Year’s Day with a fresh wind blowing from a clear, sunny sky. We passed the ‘Colliers’ rocks and across the entrance to the Grey Channel between Beaver and New Island, to anchor in South setdement (NB Ian Strange is the author of A Field Guide to the Wildlife of the Falkland Islands and South Georgia’, published 1992 by Harper Collins ). Next day we set off to see as much of the island as possible. The head of the bay is a beautiful sand beach, with the wreck of the Protector high and dry. Just above the high water mark is an old stone building built by Captain Barnard (an American sealer) who, together with three other men, was marooned on New Island between October 1813 and November 1814. The remarkable story of his adventures is well told in his book Marooned, published by Syracuse University Press (USA). 

We walked to the north end of the island and, avoiding the skua attacks, came to the fur seal colony. From a vantage point at the top of some low rock cliffs we had an excellent view of the seals without disturbing them. We stayed an hour, but could have happily spent all day there. After a picnic lunch we walked south to see the remains of the whaling station, which only operated for a few years before being relocated to South Georgia. 

We sailed at 0600 next morning with a light south-westerly. By mid morning this had died completely. In order to save our tide, we put the Seagull on and slowly motored over the oily swell. Peale’s dolphins accompanied us for much of the time, giving quite an acrobatic performance. At tea time, just as we were approaching the Woolly Gut by Westpoint Island, the wind filled in and we tacked through the passage with a fair tide, to anchor off the island settlement. Roddy and Lilly Napier made us very welcome and gave us some fresh cream, which Annie used to good effect that evening in a ‘filet de mouton au poivre vert’. 

Next day we took a picnic ashore and climbed the hill to see the black browed albatross nests. In the afternoon thick fog rolled in, but we managed to find our way back to the boat. The fog continued overnight and delayed our departure until it had thinned to about half a mile visibility. We groped our way across the channel to Carcass Island and anchored inshore of a large Canadian yacht, Niatross. 

Carcass Island is owned by Rob and Lorraine McGill, who gave us a warm welcome. We were keen to see the sea elephants at the north end of the island and Rob generously offered to drive us there in the Rover. We saw nineteen sea elephants in total, but there was not a lot of action, as they just lay on the beach like gigantic slugs. It was a long, but very pleasant walk back, as the mist had cleared, except for patches around the Jason Islands. We were invited in for tea on our return, and then pressed to stay for dinner, which was a magnificent spread.

It was now 6 January and Steve was due to fly home in just over a week. We sailed for Saunders Island at 1000 but soon ran out of wind. As we were drifting by Low Island and it was nearly lunchtime, we motored over, anchored off and went ashore for a barbecue. By the time we had wiped the last of the grease from our chins, a light breeze had filled in, so we cleared up and rowed back to Badger.

We thought of anchoring off Burnt Island just before the Reef Channel, but the wind held and the last of the tide was in our favour, so we carried on and took a short cut between Calf Island and Channel Point, with patches of kelp marking the rocks to avoid. We were accompanied by Commerson’s dolphins, known locally as ‘puffing pigs’, who seemed to take a delight in frustrating Steve’s attempts to photograph them. We fetched up off the settlement at Sealers’ Cove on Saunders Island at 2100. 

We didn’t get ashore the next day because it blew a gale from the west, but we were well-sheltered and spent the day reading and checking our transits ashore.

By Saturday morning the wind had eased to south-south-west force 3 and we set off at 0540 to catch the tide through the Dirty Ditch and Golding Channel. The latest Admiralty chart shows a 0.2 metre patch right in the entrance to the channel and Willy Ker had asked us to check this as he could find no evidence of it. We sailed right over the area, experiencing nothing less than six metres, confirming what Willy had said. 

The pilotage is fascinating in this area and several days could be spent exploring Rock Harbour and River Harbour, with their multitude of islands, channels and shoals. The fair tide and breeze meant that we made good time and we were at anchor in Tamar Harbour, at the east end of Pebble Island, by 1000. 

The last leg of the cruise was now before us and we sailed at seven the next morning. The wind was north-north-west force 4-5 and it was overcast. We timed our departure to get through the Tamar Pass at slack water, but were a few minutes late and had the start of the ebb. The good news was that the ebb was in our favour; the bad news, that it was wind against tide. 

Annie and I looked at each other when we saw the steep seas, but decided to give it a try. We would only need to put in two tacks, but it would have been more than embarrassing had Badger missed stays. She didn’t and we were soon clear, although Steve looked a little worried — that’s the trouble with crew who know what they are doing!

Once clear of the pass the wind picked up to force 6, and with a couple of reefs in each sail we had a close reach to Cape Dolphin. The prudent course of action in this wind would have been to go north of the Eddystone Rock and outside the race that runs between the Rock and the Cape. We couldn’t lay to windward of the Rock and so I hoped to avoid the race by passing close to the Cape, which Falkland Islands Shores suggests. 

Steve was feeling a little seasick and felt best when steering, so he and I sat on deck and as there wasn’t room for three in these conditions, Annie went below to tend a smokey fire. It was a rough sail and there was an enormous, confused sea off Cape Dolphin. It was too late to turn back so we pressed on.

Badger coped remarkably well, but we did get swept by one wave, which I found alarming. Steve obviously thought so too, as I noticed that he had wrapped the foresail sheet around his left hand while holding the tiller in a vice-like grip in his right. Annie popped her head up in the bubble to count the crew and asked if ‘we were having fun yet?’ 

We were sailing at top speed and soon passed through the worst of it, easing the sheets as we cleared the Cape. The original plan was to anchor off Big Shag Island at the entrance to Salvador Water, but it looked unlikely that we’d get much shelter in the present conditions, so we pressed on for Stanley. 

We made it to Port William, with high hopes of anchoring before night fall, but the wind eased off as we tacked up the bay and we anchored in the dark off Watt Cove at 2220, after a day’s sail of 89 miles. We took particular care, as the penalty for dragging here is to end up on an uncleared minefield. Steve’s gentle introduction to Falklands’ sailing had ended with more representative weather with which to conclude our circumnavigation. 

Steve only just got ashore on the morning of his flight. I stayed aboard because it was too windy to leave Badger, so Annie walked with Steve into town. Half an hour later, a squall came through which flipped the dinghy, tied astern. Steve’s flight was diverted to Mount Pleasant Airport and the air speed indicator on the ’plane read a steady 42 knots as they waited to take off. Annie was marooned ashore that night but was taken in by friends. 

Badger is a 34ft, junk-rigged dory. She was built by Pete and Annie Hill in 1983 to a design by Jay Benford. The double-ended hull is cold-moulded plywood covered with glass cloth and epoxy resin. Her two masts are arranged in a schooner configuration and her two junk sails are easy to handle in heavy weather. Badger now has no auxiliary engine apart from a Seagull outboard.

It was either Greenland or Greece; we hadn’t decided just where to go for our summer cruise. Annie, who dislikes being cold, wet and frightened, felt that Greenland would give her too much of all three; I reminded her that ‘strenuousness is the path of immortality’. She wasn’t impressed. However, we had the good fortune to meet Willy Ker and Hugh Clay at the Beaulieu Meet and their enthusiasm for Greenland soon convinced us that a cruise to its west coast was quite feasible in Badger, our 34ft junk schooner. Badger is not equipped to shunt ice and by avoiding the south-west coast of Greenland and not going too far north, we should not have to deal with any pack ice. 

We spent the winter months in Mallorca and started heading west in mid March, along the Spanish coast towards Gibraltar. We had to wait there for a week for a levanter to blow us out of the Mediterranean and on to the Algarve. Here we made use of the tidal range at Faro to dry Badger out on her legs and antifoul her bottom. On 26 April we left for Porto Santo and had a splendid passage, covering the 480 miles in three and a half days, a welcome change from some of the interminable passages in the Mediterranean. It is now possible to anchor in the harbour at Porto Santo for a modest sum. This provided complete protection from the swell, but we were continually hit by strong gusts while the fresh north-easterly wind was blowing. A few days later we sailed the 30 miles over to Madeira, and spent the night anchored in the lee of the eastern peninsula before carrying on to Funchal. May is a good time to visit Funchal and while we were there there were never more than twenty other visiting yachts — a marked contrast to the autumn months.

After a happy two week stay we sailed to Ponta Delgada in the Azores. We had originally intended to see more of the Azores, but when the wind served we were in the middle of some job or other and when we were ready, the wind would have been right on the nose, so we stayed put. Here Annie did her sums on the back of an envelope and bought prodigious quantities of potatoes, onions, carrots, cabbage and garlic. ‘Enough to see us to Canada’, she announced — and she was right. The plan was to head north west, skirt the iceberg limit off Newfoundland and sail direct to Disko Bay. By leaving from the Azores we hoped to go across the grain of the depression tracks and perhaps have less bad weather and more fair winds. The plan worked well and we had a good passage as far as the Labrador Sea. There the wind deserted us and we crawled north at a snail’s pace. We stayed at least 120 miles off the south-west coast of Greenland and avoided seeing any ice until we reached 62°N. Seeing my first iceberg loom out close at hand through the fog certainly got the adrenalin flowing — I put in a lightning tack to avoid it and then realised that it was at least half a mile away. Annie’s experiences were obviously similar. I quote from the 0245 log entry from a few mornings later: 

• Mad Frogs and Englishmen sail up in the midnight sun. 
• The Norse and Danes don’t care to 
• The Dutch and Swedes don’t dare to 
• With ice and fogs and winter togs 
• And all that kind of fun . 
• Mad Frogs and Englishmen sail up in the midnight sun. 

The light winds seemed so persistent that in the end we abandoned our plan to head straight for Disko, instead ghosting and motoring towards Maniitsoq/Sukkertoppen, the next town north of Nuuk/Godthaab. As we neared the coast the fog disappeared and the high mountains behind Nuuk stood out crystal clear. The following day we arrived in Maniitsoq having taken twenty-eight days to cover the 2054 miles. 

It was Saturday evening when we got in and we celebrated our arrival with an excellent meal and a bottle of champagne. Next morning we had jobs to do, then walked around the town and climbed a hill to reconnoitre the inside passage and admire the mountains and snow fields to the east. 

On Monday we took the inside passage north toward Hamburgerland (sic) and then east along Hamburgersund. As we approached Agpamiut, our intended anchorage for the night, a thick bank of fog rolled in, but we managed to find the entrance by keeping to a compass course. Shortly after we anchored the fog lifted briefly, revealing the impressive mountains and glaciers of Hamburgerland. We motored out the next morning in fog; the tide was an unknown quantity, but it was ebbing. I hadn’t allowed enough for it and consequently we were swept off our intended track. Fortunately we spotted some islands so we could fix our position and regain the channel out. There is an inside passage up the west coast as far as Disko Bay. We had not intended to use this because of the risk of fog — and we don’t have radar. Our exit from Hamburgersund confirmed the necessity of keeping offshore. 

We sailed north in light headwinds, with the fog coming and going continually. A recent modification that we made to Badger was to fit a Jester – type revolving pram hood. This made a substantial difference to the comfort of the watchkeeper, and we could keep a continual lookout for ice during our three hour watches without suffering from exposure in temperatures in the upper 30°s. Meanwhile the Hasler self-steering kept us on course.

On Saturday 20 July we sailed into Disko Bay. The fog lifted, revealing an impressive array of icebergs. We motored in a flat calm to the Kronprin sens Islands, where we anchored at lunchtime.

The FPI for Greenland, largely the work of John Gore-Grimes and Willy Ker, is surprisingly comprehensive for much of the coast. However the area that interested us, around Disko Island, was not so well covered and this gave us a good excuse to do some ‘exploring’ and possibly add to the FPI’s information. This exploring was more on the lines of Secret Water than to Captain Cook’s standards. The large-scale Danish charts appear to be compiled from aerial surveys; the topography and coastline are well marked, as are rocks awash, but soundings are conspicuous by their absence.

Our first anchorage in the Kronprinsens Islands was completely land locked with a very Hebridean atmosphere. We sounded around the small bay from the dinghy and then climbed up to the top of the hill to view all the icebergs streaming out of Disko Bay. The weather had turned in our favour and we were enjoying a perfect ‘Greenland day’, as Tilman would have called it. Clear warm days, but alas little wind. The next morning we went on to a deserted settlement on another island; this had only recently been abandoned and the school house still had desks in it. After lunch we carried on to Qeqertarsuaq / Godhavn, the main town on Disko Island.

We then motored along the coast a biscuit’s toss from the beach, looking into Fortune Bay and on up to Disko Fjord. We were rather saddened by the amount of jetsam washed up — the most noticeable being an endless line of plastic fish boxes. We spent two days in Disko Fjord — the first night off an abandoned Loran station which was in a surprisingly good state of repair, considering that it had been untended for over twenty years. There are several branches of Disko Fjord but the most interesting seemed to be Kangerdluarssuk. This has the small settlement of Diskofjord and several bays along its north shore. Diskofjord is a typical small settlement; shark meat and drying seal skins greet you as you land in your dinghy. A dirt track serves for the main street, with small brightly painted houses scattered over the hillside, many of them with huskies tethered outside. There is a government KNI general store, astonishingly well stocked, with everything from ‘prunes to harpoons’ as Yogi Bear would say. We were a little surprised that the locals did not appear to be the slightest bit curious about us; I’m sure they can’t get that many yachts in each year. This was one of the few days when we had a decent breeze and sunshine, so we made the most of it, sailing in and out of the bays and making a rough sketch chart of the several good anchorages. We then returned to the best of them to anchor for the night.

From Kangerdluarssuk we continued north, spending the next night anchored in Nodre Laksebugt, a bay wide open to Baffin Bay, but in this settled weather there was not even any swell. We now decided to press on to Uummannaq Fjord, taking the passage between Hareon and Disko to enter the Vaigat where we hoped that we would be able to see the mid night sun. This was the last day on which it was visible at our latitude, but shortly after 2300 a thick bank of fog rolled in from the sea. There was plenty of ice going north along the Vaigat and it didn’t seem a place in which to mess around in fog. I had noticed a shingle beach off the south end of Hareon, about a mile behind us, so we turned round and hoped to find a reasonable depth in which to anchor. We just made it before the fog closed in, and found 8 metres a reasonable distance off the beach. The fog didn’t thin out until after lunch the next day, when we set off to resume our passage. That evening it started to rain and the wind slowly picked up from the east, right on the nose. 

By early morning we were beating into an easterly F 6 with far too much ice about for comfort. The trouble was trying to decide which pieces of ice we could safely clear to windward, which to leeward. In the end we found that, looking from our pram hood, any ice forward of the first stanchion on the lee bow would safely pass to windward of us, while any ice abaft the second stanchion would safely pass to leeward. The ice that appeared between the two stanchions had us hopping from foot to foot, and in the end we either bore away from it or put in a tack. The most nerve-wracking part was trying to spot the growlers among the white caps. Fortunately it didn’t last too long and by lunchtime it had brightened up. Eventually we had to start the engine to make our anchorage at Qeqertat Island. This was our furthest point north — 71°. 

The entrance to our anchorage was guarded by a spectacular iceberg with a hole in the middle. This collapsed the next morning with a tremendous roar, sending a small tidal wave up the far side of the anchorage, and worse, filling the entrance with brash ice. In the hopes that this might clear we took a walk on the island. To the north of us was Upernivik Island, rising straight from the sea to 7000 feet. It was here that Tilman climbed on his first Greenland voyage. Further to the west we could see Ubekendt Island. Aficionados of Tilman will remember this as the place where he cast covetous glances at an old gentleman’s sealskin trousers. In fact he went so far as to buy some skins to make a pair, thinking that he would cut a dash in Barmouth; alas, they ended up as a coat for his sister. To the east we had a good view of the inner part of Uummannaq Fjord, which was full of ice, but there seemed plenty of passages through which we could take Badger.

We went down and sounded around the anchorage, but in spite of this delaying tactic the brash ice still hadn’t cleared from the entrance, so we gingerly crept out of the bay trying to avoid the larger pieces of ice. I hate to think of what it sounded like down below but, surprisingly, the paint was hardly scratched. We turned east and ran down to Agpat Island ‘wing and wong’ in the following breeze. The gentle conditions gave us ample time to admire the beauty of the icebergs. Each was sculpted in a unique shape, with Sydney Opera House seeming a popular theme. Agpat towered 5000 feet up on our port hand, with the distinctive triangular peak of Uumman naq away to starboard. It’s difficult to comprehend the massive scale of the scenery here, and it wasn’t until we closed the shore of Agpat that a team of huskies, marooned for the summer on a tiny grass ledge, gave some scale to the cliff above them. We entered an inlet on the south side of the island and carried on to the very head of the bay until we eventually found bottom in 50 feet very close inshore, next to two waterfalls. These proved handy the next day to top up our water, and we then carried on further east to the end of Uummannaq Fjord. 

The best way to find an anchorage seems to be to look for a river or stream on the chart and hope that it has left sufficient silt to fill up the bottomless fjord and so give a reasonable depth to anchor in. However, our echo sounder, rather a Mickey Mouse job, only read to 24 metres with deeper water shown by a second revolution. The trouble was that with a rock bottom, two times around the scale looked just the same as once around with 116 Annie looking east from Agpat island, Uummannaq fjord a soft bottom. Many’s the time when we didn’t know if we were in 15 metres or 39 metres, the difference between a possible and an impossible depth in which to anchor. 

all appeared to be blocked by stranded ice. Eventually, at the head of the fjord, it appeared to be reasonably ice free. The reason for this soon became clear when a strong east wind, blowing off the icecap, hit us. This had obviously been blowing for several days at the head of the fjord, clearing out the ice. We beat up to a bay which looked as though it would give us shelter from the wind. It did to a certain extent, but there were strong gusts from every direction. We found 50 feet almost on the beach, off two streams, but then had to lay a second anchor out to stop ourselves from swinging ashore. After another restless night we found we had picked up several hundred pounds of weed on the Bruce. On leaving I tried, with some difficulty, to raise this to the surface. Meanwhile Badger had left the shelter of the hills and the fresh easterly was blowing us, largely out of control, towards an island. Fear finds extra muscles and a great ball of weed came to the surface. Badger was again under command, and we forged out of the fjord while I picked seaweed off the anchor with the boathook. 

We were soon back among the ice, which seemed thicker than ever. The fresh breeze continued from the east and we quickly reduced the sail to keep our speed down and give us time to find a path through. In the end we found our best lead close inshore, where the water was too shallow for most of the ice. We had hoped to visit Uummannaq Island, but this meant crossing to the other side of the fjord, and from where we were it looked impassable. We continued on our way and on the evening of 1 August entered the Vaigat in patchy fog. We were heading for an anchorage at Sarqaq on the eastern shore of the Vaigat, and eventually had to leave the security of the Disko shore and head into the fog in order to find Sarqaq. As much by good luck as good judgement a prominent point emerged from the fog several hours later so that we knew where we were. After weaving an erratic course through thickening ice, we were fortunate to spot a bright light on our port beam. As this could only be the settlement at Sarqaq we headed for it, and when we were close to the shore houses appeared out of the fog. We anchored in the shallow bay with grounded growlers all around us. 

We set off next morning with a lot of brash ice about, but after a tortuous couple of miles we were back into fairly clear water and could set up the self-steering vane. We spent the next several days exploring anchorages in north-east Disko Bay. The most memorable of these was Pakitsoq Bay. Having spent the previous night in a very narrow inlet with a waterfall thundering by our ears we attempted to enter the inner fjord which leads almost up to the Greenland Icecap. The entrance, we found, was narrow and shallow with a considerable current flowing out. 

We thought that we’d give it a try and hoped to be able to find slack water near the edge. However only a short way in the water was rushing out at an estimated 8 knots and we were quickly pushed back. There was no room to turn, but by keeping our speed at less than that of the current we kept steerage way while emerging from the channel stern first. High water would seem to be the best time to try this passage. We then turned our attention to a bay on the east side of Pakitsoq. A reef seemed to run right the way across the entrance, but by sounding from the dinghy we found a narrow gap at one side of the reef. It was in this bay that Annie celebrated her birthday. We headed further south the next day to reach Illulissat/Jakobshavn, the largest town in the area. 

Illulissat is situated next to the ice fjord from which most of the icebergs we had recently been avoiding had emerged. A tightly packed mass of large icebergs, it is quite easy to believe that two million tons of ice a day are calved by the glacier — one of the wonders of the world. In fact amongst these bergs are some which would eventually end up on the Grand Banks in a year or two. The town has a population of 8000 — 4000 people and 4000 huskies. As we walked over to view the ice fjord a hooter in the town set the huskies howling, for all the world like wolves. This carried on for some minutes before stopping abruptly, as though someone had turned a switch.

From Jakobshavn we sailed across Disko Bay, stopping for the night at the Gron Islands and then sailing on to Aasiaat/Egedsminde the next day Here we met Firik Moller in his MFV Kivioq. She had been built by Knud Rasmussen for his seventh and last Thule expedition. When Firik took over as Harbourmaster of Nuuk he found her as a sunken wreck, but in surprisingly good condition. After a complete refit he was setting out with his wife and an experienced crew to attempt the North West Passage. Ice conditions appeared favourable and he hoped to be through in six weeks, if all went well.

It was now 10 August. Time was pressing, for the nights were drawing in and we had hoped to leave the ice behind before it went dark at night. We set off south from Aasiaat towards Nuuk. We left the shelter of the skerries that evening with the wind just west of south and foggy. By next morning the wind had risen to F 6 or 7 — another nasty sail. This was almost a re-run of our entrance to Uummannaq Fjord with more wind but fortunately with more scattered ice. Yet again we blessed our pram hood to say nothing of the rig. The wind eased by the afternoon and that evening we had to heave-to for three hours as it was too dark to make out the growlers. As the depression passed the wind veered to the north-west, but twelve hours later it again came round to the south-west. We beat resolutely south. The wind continued varying between south-east and south-west, from near calm to another brief gale. By this time we had, however, left most of the ice behind and had just the odd berg in sight when the fog cleared. 

With the sun rarely out we were relying on our RDF to give us an approximate position. There are not many RDF stations in Greenland, but they generally give a strong signal with a range of 100 to 150 miles. I have always regarded RDF fixes as a ‘sporting’ form of navigation, and this year we had given ourselves an additional handicap as the LCD frequency readout on our set had gone blank and we had been unable to repair it. After a spell of light winds off Maniitsoq the wind came round to the north at F 4, and we then had a fast run down to the entrance to Nuuk/Godthab. After seven days at sea we completed the 340 mile passage and anchored in Nuuk harbour. 

Our luck ran out in Nuuk. The mail that we expected at the post office had been lost and the following day we had a severe gale. We were lying to two anchors, but not getting as much protection from the town as we had hoped. When the CQR started to drag we set our Fisherman as a third anchor, which seemed to hold us. Astern of us, about 20 feet above the water, was a steel cable running from the shore to some moored trawlers and we didn’t fancy dragging into that. Several hours later, in a series of fierce squalls, the Fisherman and CQR dragged again. The Bruce didn’t appear to have moved, but would it be the next one? We decided to quit the anchorage and try and motor up to the quay where we would be safe — if we could get there. It was asking a lot of Badger’s 7hp, but with a scrap of mainsail sheeted in amidships to help the bow up into the wind we found that we could motor up to the anchor, so thought we’d give it a try. We recovered the CQR and Fisherman first: they had been fouled with discarded ropes, webbing and other debris. As I started to winch in the Bruce the handle slipped and gashed my cheek. Blood was everywhere, but the heavy rain soon washed it away and this was not the moment to get the F.lastoplast out. The last anchor came up and we motored ahead. A couple of squalls held us stationary for endless minutes, but eventually we gained in the lulls and made the shelter of the inner harbour. With relief we tied up, and on clearing the mud from the Bruce found embedded in it an empty bottle and a neatly coiled heaving line.

The other yacht in the harbour was French, a 34ft steel boat. They had sailed directly from Hudson Bay after wintering for ten months in the ice there. Bernard and Dominique intended to sail to the far north before spending another winter in the ice, this time north of the Arctic Circle. ‘Mad Frogs …?’ 

We had hoped to cruise around Godthaab Fjord, but time had run out and we left Nuuk as soon as the weather moderated, heading for Newfound land. A north-westerly wind gave us a head start and we had a good passage south. There wasn’t too much fog and we saw the Aurora most nights. After six days we sighted the Labrador and then carried on past Belle Isle to anchor in Griguet Harbour at the northern tip of Newfoundland. Like the Vikings a thousand years ago, we saw a country that looked lush and well-wooded compared with the land we had just left.

We called in at Grinquet Harbour so that we could visit the L’anse aux Meadows Viking site nearby. We were treated to warm Newfoundland hospitality and found that Hirta’s visit seven years previously was still well remembered. In the Straits of Belle Isle a few days later we saw our last iceberg as we sailed south towards Nova Scotia. 

Pete and Annie Hill sailed Badger from the Solent to the Caribbean via the Algarve and the Azores, re-crossing the Atlantic to visit family in Scotland and thence to Norway, Sweden and Denmark. The return journey to Warsash nonstop from Limfiord was marred by a F 9 gale in the German Bight during which Annie hurt her back. In eleven months they covered 13,634 miles. This article concentrates on the Cuban section of their marvellous cruise. 

Pete & Annie Hill

In an ideal world, summers should be spent cruising in the high latitudes where the days are long, and winters in the low latitudes where the nights are warm. In between, it ought to be possible to have some good long passages. Our plan for last winter was to visit Cuba and then to return to the Baltic for a summer cruise in the Gulf of Bothnia.

Our home for the past eight years has been Badger, a 34 ft double-ended dory, designed by Jay Benford. The hull is cold-moulded plywood covered with glass cloth. The decks, however, are sheathed in teak to save us the trouble of painting them. Slung beneath her flat bottom is a Collins tandem keel, giving a draught of 4 ft 6 in, and a skeg-mounted rudder. Badger is rigged as a Junk schooner, surely the finest shorthanded rig. While Badger is not everyone’s ideal ‘proper yacht’, we are very fond of her and she has taken us wherever we have wanted to go with a fair measure of comfort and alacrity. Best of all, Badger is fun to sail. 

Before we left England, Annie had been trying for over five months to get a visa application form from the Cuban Embassy. They seemed helpful over the telephone, but never got around to putting one in the post. A last desperate attempt before we set sail from the Solent after the Beaulieu Meet elicited the information that they thought we might be able to obtain a visa when we got there. Our arrival in Cuba was, therefore, tinged with some anxiety. 

We reduced sail as we approached the Cuban coast in the small hours of 24 January, to time our arrival at Santiago with daylight. We had no sooner sailed into the entrance than a gunboat appeared to meet us and told us to lower our sails and follow him under power. We were delayed while I tried frantically to start the engine after flooding it, but eventually got it going. Badger’s engine is a small petrol saildrive of 7hp, which gives a cruising speed of 4 knots if there is not too much wind against us. This, however, was not sufficient to keep up with the gunboat, which seemed to have a minimum speed of about 8 knots. They would charge ahead and then wait for us to catch up and charge ahead again. The perfectly landlocked harbour was full of ships at anchor and we motored past a large oil refinery and a cement works. The gunboat led us to a dock near the town centre and here we tied up to await the officials.

There were several dockside loafers munching fruit next to a small stack of fruit boxes. One of them walked over and offered us a couple of tangerines. They were delicious — juicy and just out of refrigerated storage. On seeing our delight at this offering he returned with a handful of chilled oranges, then some more tangerines, and finally a pineapple. This bounty came to an end when a launch arrived and loaded up the boxes of fruit to take them to a ship in the harbour. Then the officials started to arrive and crowded below to spend a rather hot hour filling in endless forms. Everyone was good humoured and friendly. A little man appeared with a camera to take pictures of us and odd corners of the cabin, to what purpose we never found out.

The officials were just about to depart when our ship’s stamp, a rather frivolous affair, was discovered — all the forms had to come out again to have our stamp on. The Port Captain had brought two ratings aboard and Badger was given a very thorough search from end to end. We were then directed to lie alongside an American yacht on the other side of the jetty. This was a big steel ketch, showing her age somewhat; painted on canvas dodgers were the slogans ‘Viva Cuba!’ ‘Viva Fidel!’. Obviously they were unsure of their reception, but I think that the slogans merely baffled the officials and they seemed a little unsure of how to take the ‘laid-back’ crew.

The following morning our passports were returned, together with our visas, which were issued for one month at a cost of US $10 each and renewable. The immigration official brought with him a young man from Cubatour — the Cuban travel agency. Hippolito spoke excellent English and was at our service to arrange hotel accommodation, chauffeured cars, a diving course or deep-sea fishing — whatever we wished to help us enjoy our holiday. His face fell when he heard how little money we had and it took about twenty minutes to explain to him what it was that we wanted to do. A cruising yacht was a completely unknown quantity, but when he finally understood that we had not come for a luxury holiday, but to see something of his country and how the people lived, he became very enthusiastic. 

The next problem was to get permission to cruise the south coast: that was impossible, we could only go to official ports as the coastline was dangerous to navigate. Clearly the authorities did not want us to sail along the coast unsupervised. Tentatively he suggested a visit to the Archipelago de los Jardines de la Reina, a large area of coral cays off the south coast. As this was exactly what we wished to do, we agreed to this and Hippolito then set to work to get the necessary permission. Meanwhile we explored Santiago, a rather rundown city with many of the buildings in need of repair. It was also hot and dirty. We changed most of our dollars and went in search of fresh food. The market only had malanga roots, which we felt we could live without. We found out that virtually all the food was rationed, but by wandering around and looking into the small corner shops in the backstreets we managed to buy eggs, tomatoes and oranges, sold ‘venta libra’. The easy way to buy food in Cuba is to go to the ships’ chandler, where excellent quality food was available, to be paid for in foreign currency. We called in at the one in Santiago and even with our modest order of $5 worth we were treated as valued customers. 

We had given Hippolito an itinerary of our intended visit to the cays and this had been approved, so tiring of our dirty and noisy berth in town, we went to get clearance from the Port Captain. After a four hour wait the officials arrived, filled in their forms and had a quick inspection for stowaways. We left Santiago late in the afternoon, escorted out by a small launch.

The winds along the south coast would often be light, although generally from the east. The land mass of Cuba tended to block the full force of the Trades, but it also formed a barrier against the ‘northers’ which so affect the weather of the Bahamas during the winter months. We had a slow passage to Cayo Anclitas, taking four days to cover the 215 miles. There now followed a week in paradise as we explored an endless number of small sandy cays, clearly shown on excellent Admiralty charts. We enjoyed cruising in sheltered waters where gentle breezes blew until lunchtime. In the mornings we sailed, then anchored for lunch and in the heat of the windless afternoons went snorkelling among the coral. Under the coral heads were crayfish by the score, so every evening we dined on fresh lobster, washed down with some of our specially imported Spanish wine. The only sign of civilisation was a few fishing boats in the distance.

We reluctantly left Cayo Breton on the evening of 8 February to sail overnight to Puerto Casilda. This is a small sugar port built on low land and surrounded by mangrove swamps. Five miles away, set on a hill, is the old colonial town of Trinidade. The town is well preserved, with beautiful old buildings, cobbled streets and shady squares, whilst the lack of private cars makes walking the streets a pleasure.

Fifty miles and an overnight sail brought us to Cienfuegos, another landlocked harbour. We sailed in and were directed to the ‘marina’ — actually a crumbling concrete dock. After dealing with the paperwork we went to enquire about the cost of berthing. For Badger it would be $17 per day. This was quite out of the question, but after some discussion we found that we could anchor on the other side of the bay. It was a long row into town but otherwise a pleasant anchorage. Cienfuegos, like Santiago, was a busy, noisy town, but memorable was the Teatro Tomas Terry, a Victorian opera house where Caruso had sung. It was in excellent and original condition, with frescoes on the walls and ceiling and tiered balconies. The interior was being given a spring clean and scenery was being set up in readiness for a performance of Giselle by the Cuban Ballet. 

From Cienfuegos we had a long haul round to Habana. We decided to anchor for the night off Cayo del Rosario, a deserted cay to the east of the Isle of Pines. The following morning Annie wasn’t feeling well, so we stayed the day at anchor. At 2300 that night we were woken up by a small patrol boat coming alongside. On board was an interpreter who spoke excellent American English and he explained that they wanted us to follow them to Cayo Largo — a holiday resort some sixteen miles away. I didn’t like the thought of following them over shallow water in the pitch dark, but fortunately our slow speed and the thought of escorting us for four hours eventually put them off the idea and, seeing that our papers were in order, they left us in peace. A fisherman had obviously reported us and so a boat had been sent to investigate. The following morning Annie was much better and we carried on. 

We had a good run down to Cabo San Antonio at Cuba’s western end and then turned the corner for the beat eastward to Habana. By standing out to the north we hoped to get more of the embryo Gulf Stream with us. It took three and a half days to beat the 190 miles from Cabo San Antonio to Habana. Whilst we were on passage, the USCG vessel Evergreen sent a boat over to check on us, again in international waters. They seemed content to copy details of our previous boarding, which had taken place between St Maarten and Cuba, but tailed us for three hours afterwards, doubtless while checking the details.

Another incident on this passage occurred at 0500. Annie had just handed over the watch to me, saying that there was a small motorboat slowly catching up astern. I was keeping an eye on him from the hatch when suddenly, with a roar of engines, he flew past us close to starboard at about 40 knots. The small motorboat turned out to be a hydrofoil, which then repeatedly buzzed us at high speed before just a suddenly sheering off and speeding away. The US Navy has hydrofoil patrol boats — but whoever it was, they certainly gave us a fright.

We arrived off Habana late in the afternoon and set about finding the marina — anchoring elsewhere being prohibited. We had no large-scale chart of the area, but knew that the marina was to the west, some miles from the city. Eight miles to the east of Habana the marina’s position was indicated by the sight of a large ‘Gin Palace’, and just before dusk we motored through the cut in the coral. The channel, which is marked by buoys and leading marks ashore, is on a course of 140° and we found a depth of 15 ft at low water. The Marina Hemingway has been created from a pre-revolution Fort Lauderdale-type development. 

The following morning we asked directions from the French ketch Fleur de Passion for the journey into Habana. They told us which buses to catch, but added ‘The journey, it is — how do you say — ’ell! You only travel to Habana once’. After two bus changes we found ourselves in old Habana and wondered what all the fuss was about. Late in the afternoon a norther blew in with heavy rain and a sharp drop in temperature. The journey back from Habana was indeed ‘’ell’. Cold and soaked through, we huddled for hours with the others in the bus queues. One bus broke down, but that was obviously so common an occurrence that no-one flickered an eyelid. That was followed by missing our stop and ending up at a bus depot in the middle of nowhere. After five hours to travel the eight miles we arrived back at Badger to find that rain had poured in our open scuttles — over the bookshelf. 

The following morning revealed a solid line of breakers across the entrance and a steel Polish yacht stranded on the inner reef. She was pulled off later that morning, but several yachts have been lost trying to enter the marina in strong northerly winds. We had to stay four days longer than planned until the channel was passable, but ‘El Jefe’ waived the extra marina charges. In the meantime we found out that the ‘Gin Palace’ was the 60m motor yacht El Bravo, registered in Panama. An air of mystery surrounded her. She had a crew of thirteen Poles and her owner was supposed to be a Swiss banker, but rumour had it that she was General Noriega’s yacht, being kept in Habana out of American hands.

We came away from Cuba after five weeks with some vivid impressions. Fidel seemed loved by all the people, and as long as he is leading the Revolution seems to be in no danger. The changes occurring in the USSR must mean an end to the heavy subsidies Cuba has enjoyed, and consequently large economic problems lie ahead. While the people enjoy few luxuries compared to the West, they all appear to be well fed and the standards of education and health care are very high. It is unfair to compare the standard of living in Cuba with that in Florida, ninety miles away — in comparison to her neighbours in Hispaniola and Jamaica, Fidel’s Cuba does very well.

Pete Hill & Annie Hill

In the Caicos and the Bahamas the water is crystal clear and most of one’s navigation is what the Americans describe as “Eyeball”. This was just as well because our echo sounder chose to pack in two days before our arrival in the Turks.

Our first anchorage was in Cockburn Harbour, which we shared with only one other boat, a Haitian fishing boat. The Haitians are incredibly poor and they bring their boats over to the Turks and Caicos to collect empty bottles to take back to their island. This one had also been fishing for conch and fish quite successfully. We saw the boat leave the following day, and it was a pleasure to watch the ungainly beast gather way and tack out of the anchorage.

Cockburn itself was an odd place, with a rather forgotten air about it. Food was expensive by any standards but particularly by the standards of those straight from Venezuela. We pottered around the town and cleared in and out, having had some problems persuading the Customs that we did not want to make a healthy detour in order to clear out.

With Eric Hiscock’s “Atlantic Cruise in Wanderer III” beside us, we set off to cross the Caicos Bank. The Hiscock’s had had a pilot, but were down on their 5 foot draught; on the other hand they had sailed across 20 years previously, and our pilot book, which was about 10 years old, was less than encouraging. On the third hand we didn’t really fancy taking the long route round, so in Memory of Mr. Hiscock we decided to take the Wanderer route. To be fair, we did go ‘Bang’ on & coral reef head, but that was fairly early on, and I don’t think we hit another one. The Hiscock’s had a fair wind and easily did the passage in one day.

The whole exercise was enlivened by a tremendous thundersquall that caused us to anchor when it became too overcast to see the coral heads. Eventually Pete’s DF system working overtime brought up in 81⁄2’ of water. It had taken 2, 12 hour days to cover the 55 miles.

We anchored next to two young Americans in a French aluminium boat and stayed in their company for two days, sailing round the corner to Spadilla together where the presence of a bar had caused half a dozen boats to congregate together. Towards sundown our chosen anchorage was looking a little exposed, as thunder clouds were gathering. We all reconnoitered another anchorage which involved a certain amount of tortuous coral dodging. We left our wind generator up and sailed to this anchorage under foresail alone, startling our friends (and ourselves for that matter) by our manoeuvrability and ability to tack. The holding was thin sand over hard rock, so Pete dived down and hooked the anchor under a substantial rock head.

After a pleasant evening, we all turned in, only to be awoken at about 3 o’clock by a howling blast of wind. It blew like a stink with thunder and lightning. We were aware that, should the anchor break out of its hole, we would drag back on to vicious coral only a few hundred feet astern, with no chance of the anchor digging in. Of course it was pitch dark and all we could do was sit and sweat it out.

Dawn came at last then we waited for the wind to abate and by 11 o’clock we were making preparations to leave in a NN3 and sunshine. We set off for the Bahamas proper, visiting Crooked Island, Long Island and places with names like Calabash Harbour as we sailed towards George-town in Great Exuma. The town itself is no more than a village and seems quite unspoilt with friendly people.

We had a mixed bag of weather in the Bahamas and we left Georgetown in the rain. The weather cleared up that afternoon and left us with no real excuse for entering the wrong side of the rock into the anchorage of Lee Stocking Bay. Admittedly the chart was somewhat inadequate but anyway, on we ran. As we finally got off without assistance I suppose it was no more than an incident but it concentrated the mind for a while. Still we made up for it the next day by tacking out through the gap which was only about 2 or 3 hundred feet wide, with the wind coming straight in. (The engine had packed up in Venezuela). The tide was going out, which helped, but raised a very steep sea, which didn’t. Pete stood on the bow and signalled for me to put the helm down as the bow drew near to the coral. If Badger showed signs of hesitating, he merely held the foresail aback until the bow was round then let it swing over. All very satisfactory, and it restored our confidence too.

After restocking with mail, vegetables and fruit in Nassau we timed our departure with the outgoing tide, but still had quite a bit of excitement. A seaplane decided to leave a few moments after we had got the second anchor up and were irrevocably committed. As we were having to beat out, we were glad that he passed us just as we were about to tack rather than when we were in midstream. We had to tack to pass between the pillars and slightly underestimated the extra speed of the tide under the bridge. Obediently Badger tacked and set off in the other direction, but with the tide carrying us with it, the Aries missed the pillar by inches.

We’d heard so many good reports about Bermuda that we felt we really ought to stop off and see it. Yes it is horrendously expensive, but a well stocked boat should not miss going there. At present it is free for boats to enter and anchor in St. George’s Harbour and walk around the delightful town. The Bermudians are genuinely warm and friendly people and we found they liked to chat and find out where you came from.

Still, in a hurry to get back to England we tore ourselves away from the Islands of Bermuda and headed off towards the islands of the Azores. We had a fair amount of work to windward but managed to miss out on the gales we had expected.

Horta has changed since last we were there in 1976. We initially anchored in the harbour, but a launch was put out to tow us into the new marina. I’m not sure if they would have permitted us to anchor, which is certainly a drawback. But Horta is still a very warm, friendly and welcoming place.

We had bad news awaiting us, Pete’s mother had finally given up her long struggle against cancer, and we were sad that we had not been able to see her before she died. Of course we have always realised that this is a risk with our way of life.

There was another junk in Horta – a Kingfisher 26 that had been stolen from Poole and sailed to the Azores. The thief had not only stolen the yacht, but along the South Coast had picked up various pieces of equipment to improve the boat.

After our 6 days were up we left Horta bound for Falmouth. Once again we had headwinds for 11 days out of 13, a mixed bag of light winds and vigorous breezes. We were not displeased with Badger, as a friend of ours sailing an Excalibur, left at the same time and beat us by a mere 48 hours. As we had quite a few days of very light winds indeed, Bill disappeared across the horizon in a couple of hours and as Bill is a very keen sailor, winner of the AZAB and had all Hood sails, we felt that the junk rig didn’t do so badly for herself. It is interesting to note that on the trip from Bermuda to the Azores, we made better time than a Nicholson 35 which left at the same time.

We decided to stay in England for a while. We both got jobs and are saving money to add to the cruising fund and do some improvements on Badger. She has now done 30,000 miles in all sorts of conditions and we are very happy with her. The improvements planned include changing her ferrocement keel for a Collins Tandem Keel, which is the biggest and costliest improvement. We are also fitting self tailing halyard winches and bushing the rudder fittings and generally tidying her up.

Not long after we came here, we decided that a little boat that could dry out would be a Good Thing, and we bought a Westcoaster. A few sails with her bermudan rig put us off so we have just finished converting her to junk. We are trying one or two radical ideas, which seem to be working. The mast is off centre – this allows room for a double berth, which frees the opposite side for a heater, but puts the sail on the centre line of the boat. We also decided to put the mast in a tabernacle the idea being to facilitate raising and lowering the mast, with the possibility of a Summer in the French canals in mind. The tabernacle, of Douglas fir and fibreglassed above the deck, comes all the way through the deck and steps on the keel or where the keel would be in a fin keel boat.! The tabernacle rises above the deck to a sufficient height.

The sail, of green terylene, has a much greater balance than is usual with the idea of reducing griping in a quartering wind and sea. So far we have only sailed her for about 12 hours as a junk, but can 5) that she is faster, stiffer and much better mannered and more responsive than before. Her windward ability does not seem to be impaired, though to be fair, her greatest fan would not have described her as a witch to windward. The really interesting thing that we have noticed is that, whereas before, she seemed to be very tender, now, with increased sail area, she seems to be able to stand up to her canvas. She ghosts in the lightest of breezes and yet beat to windward in the top of a Force 4 with only one reef in. All in all our first impressions of the Junk rigged Missee Lee are very positive. We will probably be in Falmouth for another year based at Islington Wharf in Penryn, for the duration.

Pete Hill & Annie Hill

The week before we left La Palma we had the most appalling weather there. Due to the way moorings were laid for local boats, we were all anchored so that we tended to lie across the wind. The anchorage was extremely crowded, as Sou’westerlies were still prevailing, with, as yet, no sign of the Trades. The wind built up fairly gradually until most people had anchors and warps at all four corners of their boats. Then it really started to blow! Those that had anemometers said that they were regularly jammed at 60 + knots. The gusts were such that Badger (admittedly initially tender) was heeling down to her gunwales. We’d lowered the sails out of the lifts to the deck. Our new neighbours in a 32 ton ferrocement ketch dragged onto us twice. The first time we helped them reset their stern anchor, but the second time, another boat had dragged its stern anchor over their starboard bow anchor which meant that if we reset their bow anchor they’d have had to lean on us during that operation. We had boats downwind of us so couldn’t move. In the end we lent them our length of spare chain 100’ of 3” which they secured to their spare anchor. Pete then helped them row it out and they managed to haul off. We passed the chain to them hand over hand!! 

This weather lasted on and off for three days and nights, and when it subsided, most people were too shaken to do much for the next couple of days. You can imagine that we welcomed the advent of the Trades with some relief! We had an extremely pleasant crossing in retrospect, but could not  fail to compare Badger’s tendency to roll with our previous crossing when we sailed in a 27’ Wharram catamaran that went downwind like she was on rails. In Badger’s defence, I must add that compared with a round bilge boat her rolling is minimal we were comparing her with a catamaran! 

We had a 30 day passage from La Palma to Roadtown, to Aola. We had fairly light winds. We came up with St. Maarten after 29 days, but continued as we wanted to be in Roadtown for Christmas. Our friends in the aforementioned ketch (52’) took 30 days to Antigua as did another friend in a Bowman 36. We all left at similar times. There were some fast passages, but we got the impression of slower than average journeys. (In Stormalong, our catamaran, we took 22 days!) 

We spent from Christmas until June in the British Virgin Islands. We had a good time on the BVI. Pete did a lot of sailing elsewhere and returned convinced of the virtues of our junk rig. The sailing there is truly tremendous and we had ample opportunity to compare Badger with other boats. To windward she is, shall we say, comfortable. Pete frets a little, but is comforted somewhat by the fact that as the charter boats are so badly sailed, they usually keep pace with us. Racing boats just leave us for dead. However, off the wind is of course a different story and we reckoned nothing under forty feet could pass us without a spinnaker if we were wung out.

We left the Virgins in June and had a very enjoyable passage to Norfolk, Virginia, avoiding any unpleasant in the Bermuda-Triangle or in the Gulf Stream or around Cape Hatteras.. 

We travelled up the Chesapeake and then hauled Badger out for a re-fit. The continuing saga of our rudder has now, we trust, come to an end. We fitted a skeg for’ard of it. This was done a) to protect the rudder and b) in the hope of improving downwind stability. Whether the latter is a success we cannot yet say an ocean passage or at least sailing in some decent sized seas, is needed before we can tell. A slight disadvantage has come up of course. Prior to the installation of the skeg, Badger would sail herself to windward with the helm frce under most combinations of sail. A great virtue. Now we have to twitch and twiddle the sheets to achieve this desirable state of affairs. However the addition of the skeg did not remove the manoeuverability, which we were concerned might happen. We also – horror of horrors – installed an engine! 

As we have had a (completely erroneous) reputation for purists, due to not having had an engine before, I’ll explain why we took this aesthetically retrograde step. 

1. In an increasing number of anchorages, space is at a premium. Getting in under a handy rig and with a manoeuvrable boat is rarely a problem. Getting out frequently is. On this side of the Atlantic people generally anchor on rope and the recommended scope is from 7:1 to 10:1. Therefore boats are ranging about a bit and often end up over one’s own anchor if the wind shifts slightly. Tacking out of a crowded anchorage can therefore be somewhat hairraising, but more importantly can sometimes be impossible. Under power the offending vessel can be gently nudged out of the way. 

2. The novelty of sitting for 6 hours, 2 miles from one’s destination in a flat calm has worn off, after 10 years. 

3. An engine means that you can take friends out for a daysail with a reasonable expectancy of bringing them home again on the same day. It also means that you can arrange to meet people at some future date. 

4. An engine allows access to places that are risky under sail, e.g. areas of flukey winds and narrow channels. It also means that we can go down the IntraCoastal waterway. 

In many ways we regret our decision, but it proved its worth during the first week of use in the Chesapeake. We took friends for a sail, we made a rendezvous and we tied Badger up securely to our friend’s dock which we attempted to sail into, but were foiled when the wind disappeared. 

By the way the machine in question is a Volvo Penta 73 hp. saildrive. The actual engine part, for those interested, is the Honda 4 stroke outboard. We also went back from the wheel to the tiller. We prefer a tiller. 

In our journeys so far we’ve met only one otter junk rigged boat – a Sunbird nicknamed ‘Nappy Liner’.

We are still delighted with Badger and haven’t yet seen a boat we’d swap with. Her greatest virtue (rig apart) is undoubtedly her comfort both in harbour and at sea. The initial tenderness and heavy masts, which at first are disconcerting, combine to give her a very easy motion and her flat bottom all but eliminates rolling in harbour and reduces it greatly at sea.  The junk rig causes a lot of interest. 

However, many people happily admit its virtues, but would not have it themselves, not because they want to race, or sail continually to windward, but because, everyone has Bermudan Rig’. We were asking for quotes from sailmakers at the Annapolis Boat Show. Some refused to quote and one didn’t even understand what we were talking about!